Hate You
by nowforruin
Summary: She doesn't regret throwing the drink in his face - he deserved it - but she does sort of wish he hadn't turned out to be a friend of David's - a friend she's now stuck spending time with. It's a thin line between love and hate... CaptainSwan, AU. A Tumblr prompt.


Another Tumblr prompt that turned into a one-shot. For those of you waiting for the next chapter of _A Change in the Wind_, I promise I haven't forgotten about it! Just having a tough time with these last chapters.

Enjoy :)

* * *

"Really? That's your line? You're disgusting." Emma turns back to her drink, ignoring the man at her elbow. He's attractive enough with bright blue eyes and a mop of dark hair, but it's the certainty with which he's laying on the bullshit that has her clenching her fist around her glass.

"Seems to me you could use a bit of my brand of disgusting," he presses, offering her glare a cheeky grin. "Relax, love. It could be good for you."

"Do you know how I relax? By punching idiots who don't understand the word no."

"To be fair, darling, you haven't actually said no."

Emma holds her breath, afraid she'll do something stupid like throw her drink in his face if she allows herself to react. Meeting David at the bar is supposed to be a fun night out. He said he invited a friend of his along as well, and Emma's been looking forward to it. Any friend of his has to be a decent person, and she loves David, she does, but she needs to have more than one friend in this town.

"Go away," she finally snaps when she feels like she's managed to control herself. "I'm waiting for my brother. Not in the mood for whatever game you think you're playing." David may not be her brother, but he'll play along to get rid of a creep at the bar. He's done it before, one of the many reasons she is continually grateful to have him in her life.

He chuckles, an infuriatingly smooth sound as he slides onto the stool next to her, uninvited. "Well, fancy that, I'm also waiting for a friend of mine."

"How nice for you. Go wait somewhere else. There's plenty of other places in here."

"I happen to quite like the place I'm in now."

Emma grits her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut for a brief moment before she just stops caring. "Hey, Ruby?" she calls sweetly over to her favorite bartender and sometimes friend. "Could you grab me a refill please?"

Ruby smiles slyly, eying Emma's full mug of beer and syrupy smile. "Sure thing."

"You've hardly finished your beverage, lass." He's grinning again, that arrogant, smug grin that makes her want to punch him. "Planning for a bit of an evening, are you?"

"Oh yes," she replies with as much sugar as she muster, her fingers curling around her mug. "A bit."

He sputters as the beer hits him square in the face, dripping from his stubble-coated cheeks onto his jacket and shirt. Emma smiles smugly as she stands up, grabbing her jacket. "I told you to find another place to sit."

* * *

She turns without another glance, sliding into a seat at the opposite end of the bar where Ruby has a fresh beer waiting for her. "Want me to throw him out?" she asks sympathetically, turning to watch as he attempts to mop himself up with the paper-thin bar napkins.

"Nah. I'd rather watch him slink out on his own."

"You got it." Ruby grins, squeezing Emma's hand in sympathy before moving away to get someone else a drink.

Emma sighs, pulling her phone out of her pocket to text David. _Where are you?_ She glares at the phone as the message sends, as though he'll magically appear through the screen. She hates coming to the bar by herself these days – her little run in with Captain Guyliner is at the top of her list of reasons why it's better to just drink a bottle of wine on her couch.

She's made it through her beer and is onto another, studiously ignoring everyone around her, when David finally appears at her side. "Hey, sorry, I got stuck late with that guy we brought in just before you left." He catches Ruby's eye and smiles, which is enough to get her attention. "My friend may have beaten me here. I told him to look for you."

"I haven't seen him. The only guy who talked to me was some asshole in a leather jacket."

David frowns, his eyes scanning the bar until they land on none other than the man in question. She waits for his usual offer to go have a word with him, but instead, she's shocked to watch his face light up, enthusiastically waving the creep over.

"What are you doing?" she hisses, grabbing his arm.

"Introducing you to my…Oh, Emma, you didn't…" But it's too late, because leather pants guy is standing just behind David's shoulder, smirking at Emma. The scent of beer clings to him, and she can see where his shirt is still damp and clinging to his chest.

"Dave! You didn't warn me your friend lacked manners and a sense of humor." His smirk is darker now, and she can see the hint of anger lurking in his eyes. "Think you can keep that beer in your glass, love?"

"Call me _love_ one more time and we'll find out," she snaps back, fingers curling instinctively around the mug.

David sighs heavily, glancing between the two of them. "Emma, Killian. Killian, Emma. But I see you two have met."

"Ah, so the princess has a name. Lovely to meet you, Emma." He sketches the most ridiculous imitation of a bow she's ever seen, a challenge in his expression though his jaw is still tight with irritation.

"Go to hell." She chugs down the rest of her beer before she throws that one in his face too, shrugging into her jacket. "David, I'm sorry. I can't. Have a nice time with your _friend_."

She leaves without another word, irritated beyond measure that apparently, the friend of David's she was so excited to meet is annoying, arrogant, and the last person she wants to spend any amount of time with.

The trouble is, David wants to spend time with him. And since she wants to spend time with David, and he sees through her excuses to bail every time Killian is around, she gets stuck with Killian, too.

"Just give him another chance, Emma. He's a great guy, when you get to know him," David pleads with her as she tries to get out of yet another night with Killian. This time, David's invited her to play pool, and she hates him for it, because she loves pool (in spite of being awful at it). "C'mon, Emma. We need four people."

"Fine. Mary Margaret is my partner for the night."

David agrees, but somehow, when she actually arrives at the pool hall, Mary Margaret announces she's teaming up with her boyfriend, leaving Emma and Killian together.

"You've got to be kidding me," she grumbles, chalking her cue and watching as David racks the balls neatly.

"Don't look so disappointed, love. I'm an excellent partner." He brushes by her, and she's certain he does it intentionally, his shoulder bumping hers. And damn him if he doesn't set up to break, the muscle flexing in his arms as he checks his line of sight….and then stares right at her as he executes a flawless break.

What he _is_ is an excellent pool player. She watches in amazement as he sinks shot after shot before finally missing. He crosses to where she's leaning against the wall, sipping her drink and preens. "You're welcome, love."

"Why am I thanking you?"

"We're winning." He plucks her drink out of her hand, taking a deep sip of it before handing it back, much to her disbelief. "I see you've moved on to vodka tonight."

"I need liquor to put up with you," she snaps back, knocking back the rest of the drink as she watches David execute a clumsy shot. "It's my turn. Stay out of the way."

She misses her shot.

He's waiting for her with a fresh drink, which he hands her wordlessly. It's only after she's leaned back against the wall and taken a sip that he speaks. "You've got poor form. I can help."

"Me and my _poor form_ are just fine."

"Suit yourself." He shrugs, waits until it's his turn again, and proceeds to clear the table. She's fascinated (she wishes she wasn't) by the powerful sweep of his arm, the careful concentration as he executes flawless shot after flawless shot. There's something undeniably sexy about it, the way his fingers curl around the cue, the way his body molds against the table.

She catches herself wondering what it would be like, were he to fold her over the table. Is that the way he'd prefer it? Her with her palms on the green felt, him behind her, his hands everywhere as he bends her just the way he likes it? Or would he be more inclined to have her on her back, her body laid out on the table under the lights, legs over his shoulders?

"Whatever you're thinking about, love, don't let me stop you." He's beside her again, closer this time, his arm brushing hers. His voice lowers, and she sees him glance at Mary Margaret and David before leaning in. "In fact, if you'd like to tell me about it…"

"Give it a rest already," she snaps, putting her drink down and returning to the table to set up for the next game while they wait for the others to return with fresh drinks.

"When was the last time you had some fun, Swan?"

"Before you showed up."

He's close again, too close, and she glares up at him, taking a step back, as though she can somehow escape the intensity of his stare. He makes her blood boil, but she can't stop thinking about him, and this pool table, and what it might be like to channel all her irritation and dislike into bed with him.

Hate sex has its advantages.

"You can't hate me forever, lass. I quite fancy you, when you're not being humorless and uptight."

"I am not either of those things."

"Prove it."

"I don't have anything to prove." She rolls her eyes, grateful for David's return. She ignores Killian the best she can as the game begins again, but when it's her turn, he's at her side.

"Let me help you."

"I don't want your help."

"Bloody hell, Swan, stop being so bloody stubborn." His arm anchors to her tightly to his hip, drawing her body against his and she can't quite manage to hide her gasp of surprise. He doesn't notice – or if he does, he doesn't care – because he's sliding his hand down her other arm, curling his fingers around hers on the cue.

His breath is warm on her ear as he talks, explains the shot to her, but she doesn't hear a word he says. Her body is at war with itself, one part of her calculating the angle at which to jam her elbow back into his solar plexus and the other….

The other is noticing the hard lines of his body against her. He molds to her like they're made to fit together, and unless she's very much mistaken, she's not the only one who has let their thoughts venture down a naughty path.

Her breath catches as his hips press against her just enough to ensure there's no mistaking what she's feeling. She's vaguely aware of him lining up the shot, murmuring directions in her ear, but she can't concentrate and scratches.

When she looks up, David is watching them, a knowing look in his eye as he smiles and leans over to whisper something to Mary Margaret.

With a sinking feeling, Emma watches as they grab their coats, her throat dry. Killian is still standing just behind her, likely to hide the evidence of his not so subtle arousal. David can't ditch them now – he can't leave her alone with Killian like this.

She hates him. She's never been so turned on by a game of pool in her life, but she _hates_ him.

"We're going to head home," David tells her unnecessarily, giving her a one-armed hug and nodding at Killian. "Mary Margaret's had a long day."

Emma doesn't buy it for a minute, not with the way the two of them are looking at her and Killian like they are, all hope and sunshine. But she's struggling to breathe normally with Killian this close and her body wound this tight, so she wishes them a good night and watches them leave before turning on him.

"What are you doing?" she demands, glaring at him and his stupid blue eyes for all she's worth.

"It takes two, love." He leans closer, his breath hot on her cheek and his lips so close to her ear she can nearly feel them. "I assure you, I could help you work whatever you want out of your system. You would be very relaxed by the time we're through."

She wants to say no. She wants to tell him to go to hell, to throw what's left of her drink in his face and go home, but she's nodding her head instead, her skin tingling wherever he touches her.

He pays for their drinks, grabbing her hand and pulling her out onto the street. His car isn't far, but she's taken by complete surprise when he spins her around at the passenger side door, pushing her back against the car and kissing her savagely, his hands roaming her body with far more liberty than she should allow in the parking lot, but she doesn't care.

The moment his lips touched hers, she stopped caring about a lot of things. She stopped caring that she finds him abrasive and rude and arrogant, because she also finds him stupidly attractive, and his hands are doing things to her, without removing a single article of clothing.

He breaks away from her just as suddenly as he kissed her, that damn smirk she hates so much back. "Get in the car, Emma."

"You get in the car."

He chuckles, sliding behind the wheel as she's putting on her seatbelt. It's a short drive to his apartment, and she's silent, watching him drive – more accurately, watching him shift his weight in his seat constantly, as though his jeans have suddenly grown much too uncomfortable.

It's her turn to offer him up a sly smirk when he glances at her, molten heat in his gaze.

The door isn't even closed fully behind them when she pushes his shoulders back against it, the door slamming shut as their weight falls against it. It's a flurry of lips, tongue, teeth and fevered touches as she kisses him, insistent, demanding kisses filled with nips against his skin, her nails raking down his chest once she's got his shirt open.

"Easy, Swan." He chuckles as she tugs on his shirt, popping one of the buttons off. "We've got all night."

"Shut up." She pulls him away from the door, spotting his couch and pushing him down onto it before sliding her legs over his. It feels good to channel all her pent up rage with him into this, to have him under her, wanting, and in her power.

It doesn't hurt that the man can kiss. His lips tug at hers, sometimes gentle, sometimes fierce, and all the while, he's touching her, working her free of her clothes. He swallows her moan in another desperate kiss, his thumb brushing her nipple as he kneads her breast, her bra and shirt somewhere on the floor.

"Is this what you were thinking of, Swan?" he demands as his hand travels lower, tugs down the zipper of her jeans and slides inside.

"Fuck," is all she can say in response as his fingers find their way to her slick heat. Her head falls back, his mouth on her neck, her shoulders as he strokes her.

"Tell me, Swan." He pulls his hand away, touches her again, but lightly, maddeningly. "Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

"God, I hate you."

"No, that wasn't it."

She's breathing heavily, and she can feel the flush in her cheeks, the ache between her legs growing more powerful by the second. "The pool table," she spits out, pressing closer, trying to find the friction she needs. "I was thinking about the pool table."

"What about it?" He's pushing her jeans down her legs, but still, not touching where she wants. She kicks the pants off before sinking back down onto his lap, her own hands leaning his shoulders where they've been keeping her balanced and palming the bulge in his jeans. His breath hisses through his teeth as she does it, and she smirks through heavy lids.

"Figure it out."

"Later."

"That's what I thought."

It's the last coherent string of words she manages to put together. What little clothing is left to them is gone shortly, and then he's arching up into her as she slams her hips against his, filling her in the first stroke. She can barely breathe with the intensity of it, the snap of her hips into his and the savagery of their kisses, and when it's over, she goes hurtling over the edge, the shocks of her climax running through her long after they've stopped moving.

"I still hate you," she tells him, her breath coming in pants and her forehead leaned against his shoulder.

"If that's your version of hating me, you go right ahead, Swan." He grins up at her, sated and happy and still wearing that goddamn smirk. "Now, tell me more about the pool table…"


End file.
